


Bloodlines

by CC99trialanderrorgirl



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Bloodlines kink, Cuties in space, Eventual Dark Side Husbands, Force Bond (Star Wars), Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Grey Jedi, Hux and Kylo are Relatively Nice, Hux is Into It, It is for Hux, Kinda, Kylo Amidala, Kylo Organa, Light Side Dark Side Meta, M/M, Prince Kylo, Princeling Kylo, Romance, The Last Prince of Alderaan, Vague soulmate references, bloodlines, force connection, is that a thing?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-13
Updated: 2018-02-22
Packaged: 2019-02-14 04:52:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13000263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CC99trialanderrorgirl/pseuds/CC99trialanderrorgirl
Summary: Hux is impressed by bloodlines. That Kylo’s should turn out to be so impeccable is both deeply intriguing and the most depressing reality Hux has ever had to face in his life. He fucks the wayward Prince of Alderaan anyway.Wherein Kylo Ren and General Hux have a surprisingly deep friendship that turns into a slow burn friends-to-lovers situation after Hux learns who Kylo really is.There's Kylo Amidala in full on Nabooian garb and makeup in chapter 2, if that sways you.And now with grey jedi references and strangely powerful bonding in chapter 3~





	1. Chapter 1

The first time Hux sees Kylo Ren, he is impressed. Everyone else seems to be afraid of him, but Hux can see right through the façade the first time they stand toe to toe and shake hands. Kylo Ren is a master of perceptions – he wears the imposing mask and the robes and the heavy boots for effect. Hux gets that; it’s similar to how he wears his greatcoat and why he stands with strict posture and only ever speaks in short, clipped tones. They part on amicable terms.

The second time Hux sees Kylo Ren, he is not impressed at all. In fact, he rescinds his original judgement, and realizes that Kylo Ren is, in fact, a dangerously powerful _child_. They have their first fight standing toe to toe in the Deck 4E Control Room, ruined equipment still smoking and sparking around them.

Things continue on as such for five months. But then Snoke assigns them both to a special project together, engineering new TIE Silencers. Hux’s engineering knowledge and Kylo’s piloting prowess are a good match. They make progress together, both in their work and in their relationship. Hux sees Kylo without the mask. Kylo sees Hux without the coat. They start to shed some emotional layers, too. They talk about pressures of the job, what it’s like working for Snoke and having no family to speak of. Pouring over schematics together late into the night, they form a friendship of sorts. When the project is over and their partnership is through, somehow, the tradition of meeting in Kylo’s quarters persists. Only now, they don’t go over schematics. They just sort of…go about what they’ve got to do while sharing the same space. Often, they talk. Hux brings a bottle of whisky from his personal stash and starts keeping it there. Kylo starts wearing his downtime clothes in front of Hux. Hux starts taking off his uniform jacket, stripping himself down all the way to his shirt. Sometimes, he even rolls the sleeves up.

They are lounging in Kylo’s personal quarters when it happens. Time together has become a nightly habit of late. Hux is seated at Kylo’s regulation-issue desk, chair turned around with a data pad on his lap. He’s idly scrolling through schematics and sipping whisky from the snifter in his left hand. Kylo is doing most of the talking, but when Hux comes across an interesting notation on his datapad, he brings it up. It somewhat unexpectedly turns into a discussion of politics, at which Kylo is surprisingly adept, but Hux knows he is still better. He’s got the training and breeding of generations of Imperial blood behind him, not to mention his own ingenuity and ruthlessness. He’s a tactician through and through, and Kylo is…well, Kylo. It’s utterly unexpected, so of course that’s when it happens.

Hux would consider it a normal evening. Lounging in Kylo’s rooms, drinking and talking and doing work while Kylo does strange stretches and lazes about in equal turns. Kylo is wearing the same thing he always wears when he’s “off duty” – black jogger pants that are most definitely too tight, a gray singlet with the First Order emblem laser-printed in the top left corner, and a frayed black hoodie. He’s in socked feet; he never wears shoes in his room. One of his toes is poking out of the black fabric and Hux can see it’s because there is a hole in the front seam. Kylo’s hair is pulled up in a messy bun, like always, and he’s wearing a silver ring on his right ring finger – Hux has never seen it on him except during these occasions. There’s a strange language carved into it, all around the band. Hux is confident he could read it, even thinks it might be a very old dialect of Alderaanian, but he’s never close enough to Kylo to be sure.

Kylo is currently sprawled back on his bed, slumped against blue-and-gold patterned pillows that are piled against the surprisingly ornate headboard. Kylos’ quarters are a confusing mix of stately and slovenly that Hux has just never managed to get used to; it doesn’t vex him the way it used to, but the incongruity always throws him off just the same. He supposes he’s grown rather used to the dichotomy that is Kylo – he acts at once like a spoiled ruler, or perhaps a petulant teenager, yet always shows competence in his skills. Returning his mind to the topic at hand, Hux makes his case for the tactical insignificance of respecting the cultural mores of Base One-Eight, a planet on the outskirts of the Mid-Rim. Kylo rolls his eyes, and, sounding bored, drawls out a stunningly astute counterpoint.

Hux is _floored._ There is no way Kylo could know that. No way _anyone_ would know that, really, unless they’d had specific, diplomatic training.

 _Wait_.

Hux slowly lowers the glass where it was poised at his lips, ready for a victory sip. The sound of it being replaced on the surface of the desk behind him is loud in the sudden silence. Hux is staring.

Kylo, who apparently had his eyes closed, opens them suspiciously. “What?” he asks, shrugging and readjusting his hoodie. He pops one of the ties in his mouth and sucks at the knot on it; Hux tries not to be distracted by disgust. There is something he’s missing here, and he _hates_ it when there’s clearly something he doesn’t know.

“Kylo,” Hux says in a tone that makes Kylo look up from where he’s wrestling with a pair of tangled in-ear headphones on the bed.

“What, Hux?” Kylo says, a faint tinge of concern bleeding into his speech. He’s figured out that something is up. Did he…reveal too much? Hux can see Kylo frantically going back through the conversation in his head, trying to find the thread that got Hux’s attention. _There._ He sees it when Kylo realizes his mistake. He can’t help himself. He whoops, “ah-ha!” and points right at Kylo who is on the bed looking stricken.

“You’ve had diplomatic training.” Hux says. “There is no way you could have come up with that perspective if you hadn’t.”

Kylo looks like he’s about to deny it, but then deflates. “Fine,” he says, looking down at his own hands. He’s long abandoned sucking on the hoodie string, and his fingers are now picking at the wet knot in a distinctly nervous gesture. “I _may_ have grown up in the New Republic.” Kylo says. He meets Hux’s eyes almost as if daring him to say something.

Hux rolls his own eyes. “Well, I knew _that,_ ” he says. “Kylo, you’re completely undisciplined. There was never a doubt in my mind that the so-called New Republic is where you came from.”

“Oh,” Kylo says, and that’s all he says for a while. The silence stretches on, and Hux goes back to his datapad, thinking Kylo is done sharing. That’s when he gets the surprise of his life.

“My mom is Leia Organa.” Kylo says it flatly, like it’s not a big thing. Hux drops his drink. The glass shatters and the remaining whisky seeps into the rug. He doesn’t even notice.

“ _What_?” Hux interjects, incredulous. Kylo _kriffing_ Ren _cannot_ be _…_ he _can’t be…_

“Oh my God,” Hux says, “you’re a _prince._ ”

Kylo looks mildly uncomfortable. “Um…yes?” he says. The inflection at the end goes up extra high, and Hux has to stifle a laugh. Kylo has to be the most insecure prince who ever lived. _Prince._ He still can’t get over it. The last in line to Alderaan, no less. It’s…intriguing. He chalks it up to his upbringing, which emphasized the importance of bloodlines, and, well, Alderaanian royalty is about as prized a bloodline as you can get.

Hux would have expected himself to be jealous of Kylo’s impeccable pedigree. He finds he isn’t; rather, he’s curious. Insatiably so. He asks more questions.

“Who is your father?”

Kylo shrugs. “Han Solo, obviously. Really, Hux, most people would put that together….” But Hux is too busy freaking out over the fact that Kylo _fucking_ Ren is the fucking _Last_ _Prince_ _of_ _Alderaan_. What?! His world has just turned upside down.

It goes quiet again for a while as Hux contemplates how much Brendol would have hated Kylo, bloodline and all. It makes Hux feel rather happy for their close relationship. The person he is closest to on this ship is also the one his father would despise the most. Hux likes the symmetry. He smiles, thinks more about Kylo’s background.

“Grandparents?” he asks, suddenly. It comes out a little manic, and Hux is dimly aware that he’s running a hand through his hair and messing it up, but he can’t quite make himself care. _Kylo_ is a _prince._

Kylo looks down again. “Uh, well, I don’t really know on my Dad’s side, except for the Wookies, but they’re not really _blood_ ,” he says. Hux makes a face, but then thinks better of it. He waves it away, eager for the juicy part of this information. He’s heard rumors about Organa’s bloodline…

Kylo inspects his hoodie string before he speaks, holding it close to his face before letting it drop and starting on the other one, rolling it between his fingertips and plucking at the knot with his nails. “On my mother’s side, well…there’s Darth Vader, obviously.” Hux blanches. He’s heard the rumors, sure; everybody has. But they’ve never been officially confirmed or denied. This is…this is really big. Hux wonders who else knows this information. If anyone privy to it is even still alive. Honestly. “Kylo Ren, Heir to the Empire”…and Hux thought _his_ Imperial blood was impressive. Well, on his father’s side at least. He grimaces; he tries hard never to think of his mother. He shakes his head and glances up. Kylo’s head is down again; he looks nervous, young – big dark eyes overly focused on his hoodie string. Hux knows that look; Kylo is holding something back.

“And…?” Hux prompts, gentle but firm. More than most, he understands the complicated feelings that come with family, and these days, he does not wish to cause Kylo unnecessary distress, but, at the same time, he _has_ to _know_.

Kylo says it matter of fact, completely devoid of any inflection. “Padme Amidala, my grandmother. She was Queen of Naboo during the early years of the Trade Federation’s Separatist movement. She was later a senator and played a role in the Clone Wars. She married Anakin Skywalker in secret and gave birth to Uncle Luke and my Mom.” He sounds a little proud now, but Hux is still stuck on the _prince-twice-over_ thing. Three times, if you count being the golden boy of the New Republic. Really, that’s just like being an honorary prince of sorts – celebrity was probably the closest thing to royalty that the democracy-loving New Republic would allow. He pictures Kylo as an infant, held securely in the arms of his smiling parents, the photos plastered all over the holonet. Then, Kylo slightly older, navigating the joys of new discovery and the pains of growing up, all under the lense of a microscope, with the _whole world_ watching.

Hux wonders what it was like. Maybe, someday, he’ll ask. But Kylo has clearly had enough for today. He’s watching Hux warily, fingers rubbing harshly at the fabric over his right knee. He’s going to wear a hole in the joggers, just like with the socks, just like he does with nearly everything else he owns, Hux thinks. He goes back to contemplating the almost unbelievable pedigree of Kylo Ren.

Presently, it dawns on Hux how hard he’s gotten in his pants. He snaps out of his thoughts and back into reality so fast it’s almost harsh. He hastily shifts his data pad, grabbing for his uniform jacket and quite literally running out of the room. He can still feel Kylo’s confusion and hurt from three corridors down. He’s probably going to have to make amends for that – Kylo is his only companion on this ship, aside from Phasma, but she’s technically his subordinate, so there’s a line to keep. With Kylo, he doesn’t need to worry about that. It’s something he’s come to appreciate – the ability to be candid, to be unvarnished with someone, even just a little bit. And, ah, knowing Kylo, he’s liable to think Hux hates him for his bloodline now. Kylo can _never_ find out that it’s actually the complete opposite, that Hux is in fact rather obsessed and oddly aroused by the whole thing.

When he reaches his own quarters, Hux promptly takes a cold shower and goes to sleep feeling vaguely guilty. He has strange dreams that don’t quite coalesce when he tries to recall them in the morning.

The next day, Hux finds Kylo in his personal training room. When the door opens, Kylo whips around, halfway through a complicated twirl – he brings his lightsaber slashing down through a nearby storage crate. Hux cringes and tries not to get angry. He’s here to…ugh… _apologize_. But really, Kylo has sort of, somehow, unbeknownst to him really, kind of, well, he’s become his…friend. And although he doesn’t fully understand it, Hux doesn’t want to lose the relationship. So he starts talking.

“Last night…what you told me…I wasn’t put off by it, Kylo.” Hux says, trying for honesty and earnestness. He’s learned that Kylo seems to respond well to these things. It appears to be working, now. The lightsaber de-ignites, and Kylo is fully facing him, fingers picking at the hem of his sweat-soaked singlet. There’s no silver ring there, but Hux stares anyway. He can’t quite stop himself.

“Hux…?” Kylo asks uncertainly.

“Right, yes, sorry,” Hux tries to cover his slip with military posturing. He can tell it only half works; Kylo still looks suspicious.

“Anyway,” Hux says, shaking himself mentally, “as I was saying.” He falters again as Kylo whips the dampened shirt over his head and tosses it somewhere behind him. “Sorry,” he says, and he sounds kind of embarrassed, Hux is interested to note. Kylo shrugs awkwardly. “It was starting to feel gross.”

“No mind,” Hux says, still speaking in his brusque, clipped General’s voice that he hasn’t used around Kylo for over a year. He’s aware that he’s behaving very oddly, but he can’t quite control it. He’s talking to a _prince._ He just can’t get past that fact. He feels his face growing hot, and knowing that with his pale skin the blush will be blazing red in just a few moments, he beats a hasty retreat.

“Have a good workout, Ren!” he calls back over his shoulder, just before the doors slide shut behind him. He never calls Kylo “Ren” anymore. What is wrong with him?!

It happens a few more times after that. Once, when they’re having dinner together with Phasma in the officer’s mess. Again, when they try to spend casual time together in Kylo’s quarters, as per usual. Hux can’t handle it, starts to pick a fight, changes his mind, and leaves almost immediately. The fourth time it happens, Hux almost trips over himself to run away. Kylo just looks amused at this point. Hux hates it.

And now, it’s happening _on his bridge. He_ is the authority here, and no one else. Kylo’s pedigree should not matter in the least. Bridge command is about intellect, and tactical prowess, and cunning, and…well, frankly, Hux has come to see over the last year or so that Kylo does in fact have most of those (he’s not particularly cunning by personality, but he is a brilliant tactician, Hux can admit it). He’s standing at parade rest, legs spread wide, surveying the _Finalizer_ through her forward viewports, but his attention is elsewhere, at the back of the room. Kylo is there, _lurking._ It’s something he likes to do on occasion - “to keep up appearances,” he says. More like keep the crew in fear of him; it drives Hux _mad._ But today, something is different.

As Kylo makes his way to the front of the bridge, stomping about in his ridiculous outfit and commanding attention with every inhale and exhale, Hux’s mind conjures an image that makes his entire body go cold, and then very, very warm all at once. Kylo, dressed in heavy, thick robes of white and gold, a delicately wrought circlet atop his head, dark curls spilling down to his shoulders, and a cape, white and gold at the edges and lined all in blue, the colors of Alderaan, draped behind him as he stands in front of a magnificent golden throne with sunlight spilling in from windows overhead on some idyllic planet… Kylo looks resplendent in Hux’s mind’s eye, and at that moment, all of his recent preoccupations suddenly make sense.

He is _attracted_ to Kylo Ren. Wayward Prince of Alderaan, descendant of the Queen of Naboo, once the darling of the New Republic, now embracing his heritage as heir to the Empire. Kylo _kriffing_ Ren.

And Hux wants him.

Suddenly every repressed thought Hux has ever had about Kylo – his body, his intellect, his sharp-minded wit and ripped pectorals and luscious, flowing hair…every single one rises to the surface and crashes over him like a breaking wave. He actually staggers for a moment under the weight of it, and Kylo reaches out a gloved hand to steady him. No one takes notice, as they all too busy doing their jobs, but Kylo gives him an odd look and leans in, whispering, “Hux, are you okay?”

Hux shakes his head; he isn’t sure if he means yes or no. He just wants…well that’s it, isn’t it? He just _wants._

While it’s somewhat ridiculous that it has taken Kylo _revealing_ _his_ _bloodline_ for Hux to realize his infatuation, now he can’t let it go. It’s a damn travesty that Kylo-I-still-chew-my-hoodies-like-I’m-fifteen-Ren would be a prince thrice over, but it’s also the hottest thing Hux has ever heard.

Thankfully, Kylo goes off on a mission, giving Hux a few much needed days to think. He considers talking to Phasma, but he already knows what she will say. Phasma is a fan of the casual fuck; she’s got a small bevy of tiny little female Lieutenants in her rotation. But Hux has never been one for transient relationships. Well, he’s never been one for relationships at all, really, but he’s the type of man who is either all in or all out – he does nothing halfway. What would be the point? That philosophy has gotten him this far, with a General’s commission at the youngest age in both Empire and First Order history, and first command of a _Resurgent_ -class star destroyer under his belt, so he fully intends to stick with it. All the way to becoming Emperor of a First Order-controlled universe.

He smiles, picturing a simple silver crown on his head, a long white cape like the old Imperials used to wear, the might of the entire First Order at his beck and call… It’s a familiar fantasy, and a pleasant one. But this time, his mind flashes for just a moment to a new image: himself, dressed in exorbitantly expensive, luxury garb, a jeweled crown on his head, and next to him, Kylo, dripping with furs and jewels and wearing a circlet on his brow, standing tall and proud, resolute and powerful at Hux’s side. The reverie shifts like smoke, and Hux suddenly finds himself imagining Kylo kissing him. Heavily. Forcefully. With all of the passion pent up inside that large, hard body of his. Hux is glad he is sitting down in his office, alone. He’s sure his blush is blindingly bright.

Hux dreams of Kylo that night. He dreams of the way dark curls would feel under his hands, of the sensation of Kylo holding him down, pressing his smaller wrists and hipbones deep into the mattress, of how Kylo’s lips would taste…He wakes up sticky and embarrassed and very, very worried.

Kylo returns the next day. Hux is there to greet him, as always. He knows Kylo will expect to debrief in his quarters like they always do after either of them goes on off-ship alone, but he’s apprehensive. Not nervous. General Hux doesn’t get nervous. But, a small voice hidden deep in the back of his mind says, quietly, _Armitage_ does. He crosses his arms beneath his greatcoat and waits for Kylo’s shuttle to lower the ramp.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope anyone following this story, if there are any of you out there, enjoys this installment. I know I had fun writing it :)

The Kylo that emerges from the _Upsilon-_ class shuttle is _not_ what Hux was expecting. Not at all. Apparently, Snoke had seen fit to send Kylo on some sort of diplomatic mission, and really, what on _Starkiller_ was the Supreme Leader even thinking? But Hux will worry about the terrifying prospect of Kylo Ren on a mission requiring any sort of tact later, because right now…right now, Hux is staring at _Prince Amidala himself._ Gone are the tattered garments and faceplate mask. Gone, even, is the intimidating aura that Kylo seems to wrap around himself like a cloak everywhere he goes. In its place is…Kylo Amidala. Hux can think of no other way to describe what he is seeing right now.

Kylo’s long, lush black hair has been brushed to a sheen so lustrous it makes him seem aglow. It tumbles around his face in soft, dark waves. At the top of his head, there are three neat little braids marching back over Kylo’s scalp, twisted and pinned down tightly to allow for a conical shaped headdress of dark blue with gold brocade embellishments running along its edges. Beneath, Kylo’s face is painted white in the traditional Nabooian style, with heavy gold liner around his eyes and that distinctive fat red line running down the center of his bottom lip. Three small bindi adorn the space between his eyebrows, which have been neatly combed and gelled down, lending an elegant, refined appearance to Kylo’s usually slightly awkward face. In place of his regular black cowl and robes, Kylo is dressed in what can only be described as female finery. The navy blue gown is tight at his waist and flares out around his hips, falling in a gentle bell curve all the way down to his feet. The dress is clearly bespoke, because at the center of the stomach band, the skirts split wide, revealing a fitted pair of matching trousers underneath. He is also wearing military style knee high black boots, polished until they gleam – in fact, they’re so shiny that Hux almost imagines he can see a reflection of the durasteel floor and some of the stormtroopers’ white armor reflected in them. The gown’s bodice is made from some sort of skintight navy blue fabric, no doubt gossamer to the touch – it’s practically see-through; Hux is sure he would be able to see Kylo’s pert little pink nipples poking out if it weren’t for the piles and piles of diamond necklaces heaped over his neck, spilling over his torso like so much elegant chain mail.

Hux is staring, speechless, for a good fifty seconds or so before Mitaka steps out from behind him, clears his throat, and says, “Lord Ren, welcome back aboard,” in the most even tone Hux has ever heard. He could honestly _kiss_ Mitaka right then, for taking charge and saving face for his general. Unfortunately, Hux is far too preoccupied by this arresting and distinctly royal image of Kylo Ren to really access any sort of higher brain function at all. With a (supremely irritating, as far as Hux is concerned) huffing sound, Phasma sweeps past Hux’s other side and hands Kylo a datapad loaded with diagnostics detailing the last few days on the _Finalizer_ that Hux knows Kylo will never read, has her battalion of stormtroopers salute their co-commander, and then swiftly takes her leave, her troops filing out in neat little rows behind her until the hanger is empty except for the ever present, ever harried technicians, Mitaka, Kylo, and himself. Hux turns to Mitaka pointedly and says, with just the barest hint of strain in his voice, “Lieutenant, you are dismissed.” Mitaka, to his credit and Hux’s everlasting gratitude, nods once, says a quick, cursory, “Yes sir,” and leaves without looking back.

Kylo is still standing in the shadows of his ship’s ramp entrance, the strange backlighting effect highlighting the intricate whorls of silver stitched into the fabric of his gown, and Hux can’t look away. He isn’t sure what to do, really. He _knows_ Kylo is a Prince, has known for a few days now. But that’s not the same thing as _seeing_ it with his own eyes, is it? Hux thinks not. Kylo shifts his skirts around, looking uncomfortable. Definitely not the same thing at all, Hux thinks. _Not at all._ He is still staring. Kylo, who has grown increasingly uncomfortable with Hux’s strange staring and uncharacteristic behavior, shifts again, adjusting the fall of his skirts over his boots and brushing one long black curl out of his eyes.

Hux blanches at that; something about the gesture is too intimate, almost obscene when combined with the makeup and the gown and the general aura Kylo is projecting right now, despite his customary awkwardness. Hux knows that Kylo is the kind of prince who would rather be in the training room, wearing nothing but sweat-soaked, too-tight joggers and a ratty old singlet. Somehow, that adds to the allure. Kylo has so much privilege that he can actually afford to _reject_ it. The wayward prince indeed…Hux _has_ to get out of here. He’s always had a thing for status, has always been fascinated by the trope of the rebellious prince or princess, too headstrong and passionate to be cowed into submission by the weight of their duties or the will of their elders.

It has always seemed to Hux like an enviable loophole – a way out of duty that leaves no aftertaste of shame. Indeed, he’s spent his life obsessively pursuing and consolidating enough power so that he too may ascend to that level of privilege someday. But even then, even if he were emperor of the whole damn galaxy, he would never have that birthright, that _guarantee_ of privilege that only comes with royal blood. But Kylo…Kylo does. And Kylo is wild enough to want to throw it away, powerful enough to act on any whim…Yes, Hux needs to get out of here, _now_. He goes to flee, but it is too late. While Hux has been lost in his own head, Kylo has approached, is closer now, _too_ close. Hux knows he is blushing furiously, but he doesn’t care. Kylo is staring deeply into his eyes, and Hux is lost. Mesmerized.

“I think you like me like this,” Kylo says, slow, hypnotic. Hux almost nods his head. He manages to stop himself, but it’s a close thing. He doesn’t know how to respond. He isn’t sure whether he should be peeved or relieved Kylo does it for him.

“I’ll meet you in your quarters at 2100 hours for our customary chat, _General_.” Hux can’t quite tell if he imagined the emphasis on his title or not, but something in him cracks at it anyway, and as Kylo moves to sweep past him, Hux reaches out and snags his hand. Kylo looks a little shocked, but not displeased. He inclines his head, curious. Before he can lose his nerve, Hux does a quick little sweep of the room – technicians: all busy; stormtrooopers: all elsewhere; officers’ observation deck: empty. He takes a deep breath, bows from the waist, and brings Kylo’s hand to his lips. There are jeweled rings there. Hux skips over them and kisses Kylo’s bare flesh, the heat of his palm burning Hux’s pale lips. Above him, Kylo gasps, and retracts his hand as if stung. Hux fumbles, mumbles a half-apology, but Kylo is already grabbing him by the wrist and _dragging_ him across the hangar, around a pillar, down a hallway, and before Hux realizes what’s happening, Kylo has shoved them both into a small control terminal and secured the door behind them.

In the cramped space, Hux feels overly warm, and he can’t quite breathe because the oxygen in the room seems to have heated up, too. It feels heavy and humid in his lungs. Kylo is much too close, pressing his knees to the edges of Hux’s thighs, crowding him back until his ass hits a table. Kylo doesn’t stop his silent, strange advance, so Hux hops up onto the table, trying and failing at a dignified backwards shimmy-crawl to get some distance. Instead, his back bumps up against a monitor and Kylo’s big hands land across Hux’s spread thighs. Kylo stops then, stares. Waiting. For what, Hux doesn’t know. And then it dawns on him – the horror of it. Kylo is waiting for him to _speak_ , to _explain_ himself. Well, he can’t. Kylo Ren will just have to deal with that. No man can get what he wants all the time, Hux thinks, and then realizes he has said the words aloud.

“I can,” Kylo drawls, and then he kisses Hux. _Hard._

Hux feels dizzy, like he’s up too high in atmo in a fighter model, testing out the engines. Then he’s falling, the craft spinning in an uncontrolled descent. A fiery crash, pieces smoldering, ashes in his lungs, and he’s choking, no, he’s drowning, no-

“ _Fuck_ ,” Kylo says, pulling back, and he sounds utterly _wrecked._ The sound goes straight to Hux’s already uncomfortably hard dick.

“Fuck, Hux,” Kylo says again, switching to kissing Hux’s neck so he can talk more easily but still maintain skin to skin contact. Hux digs his nails into his own uniform pants and tries very hard not to come on the spot, with Kylo Ren – no, Prince _Fucking_ Amidala – mouthing at him and making these deliciously desperate gasping noises against his skin.

“Never thought you’d get a clue, Hux,” Kylo is saying, panting out the words between deep, possessive sucks on Hux’s exposed neck. He’s rutting up against Hux’s left knee, pressing himself close in a series of desperate, half-conscious thrusts. “Wanted this…wanted you…so long....” Kylo trails off, suddenly shuddering.

“Ah,” he cries, and Hux realizes that Kylo Ren has just come in his finery, just from kissing him, General Hux. After that realization, it only takes Kylo sinking his hands into Hux’s perfectly kempt hair and yanking roughly on a fistful of strands before Hux is coming, too, untouched and far too powerfully.

He looks up then, meeting Kylo’s blown-out eyes, gasping. “What…” Hux hears his accent coming out – that always happens after he’s had sex – winces slightly, and tries again.

“What was that?” He meant it to come out sounding measured, less affected, but he sounds breathy and fucked-out and _damn_ Kylo _fucking_ Ren Amidala Organa _whatever_ he’s a _prince_ just got off with him. _On_ him. _Fuck_.

Kylo grins down at him, something feral and dangerous and very, very enticing glittering in his eyes. Hux thinks it before he realizes what the thought reveals, and apparently, after sex, Kylo’s control slips a little, too, because he’s replying to the thought in Hux’s head before either of them know what they’re doing.

“ _No_ ,” Kylo says and smiles slow and vicious and so, so pleased, “ _it_ wasn’t _just_ _you_.”

Hux splutters, feeling cortisol flood his system as he gets his bearings and realizes Kylo just _read his mind_ and _replied to him_ – the first, he swore he’d never do, and the second, well, the second is a phenomenon to ponder for another time. Hux is angry now, shoving Kylo off him and yelling, wanting to spar, but Kylo…Kylo just looks dazed. Amazed, maybe. What’s he so in awe of, Hux wonders, and Kylo’s sudden reverence is enough to give him pause.

“You.” Kylo answers his unspoken question again, although this time, at least, he speaks the answer out loud.

“You –” Hux starts off, rounding on Kylo, but something in the other man’s expression gives him pause again.

“What…what is it?” Hux asks, uncertain now, floundering to keep his composure even as he feels the situation rapidly slipping out of his control once more. He feels afraid, wonders what has Kylo so…

“You…” Kylo says again, like he’s about to say more, but then trails off, looking pensive again. Hux is almost ready to start yelling again when Kylo finally says more. “I didn’t expect to ever…um, what we just did…I mean, the kissing, yes, but…I…I just connected with you.”

Hux looks unimpressed, so Kylo elaborates.

“Through the Force.”

The import of that comes crashing down on Hux. He sits back down, hard.

“Is – is that normal?” he asks.

Kylo, looking very serious, answers in the gravest tone Hux has ever heard him use.

“ _No_.”

Hux looks incredulous and more than a little scared. “No?” he repeats, phrasing it like a question.

“No.” Kylo says again, definitive, sure. He’s very certain, Hux can tell. It’s…disquieting.

“Then why…?” He starts to ask, trails off.

The small room is silent for a while, save for the sound of their breathing mingling in the too-hot air. Then, Kylo speaks, and it’s like that moment a few days ago, when Kylo told him about his heritage, who he really was: Hux’s whole world shifts, a bit more minutely, maybe, but there’s definite shearing as his worldview tilts to the side just a little bit.

“It’s not normally possible, even between two very Force-sensitive beings. Between one Force user and one non-Force user...I had thought it impossible.” Kylo spreads his hands in a gesture clearly meant to convey, _and yet, here we are._

“I – I am not Force sensitive, to my knowledge.” Hux says. On a whim, he squints at a dust bunny on the floor behind the console opposite him, concentrating very hard on trying to move it with his mind. It stays where it is.

“No, you’re not,” Kylo is speaking very slowly now, as if worried about Hux’s reaction to what he’s about to say. Subconsciously, Hux tenses his whole body, bracing for it.

“But,” Kylo says, and his voice rings very clear in the small space, “you are connected deeply enough to me that it…it sort of…bleeds through. I think.” He adds quickly, like it’s important for him to note his lack of certainty on this topic.

Hux passes a hand over his face. Pinches the bridge of his nose. Blinks a few times rapidly in quick succession.

“You and me…” Hux ventures, and he can’t quite keep the smile off his face as he says the words. He likes the way they feel leaving his lips. Kylo, for his part, looking awkward and utterly debauched and yet still somehow regal, too, nods solemnly, and something about it just makes Hux think, _Jedi_. _He used to be a Jedi, and a Prince, and now he’s a fearsome warrior, and now he’s…mine?_

He looks Kylo in the eyes as he thinks it, and he knows Kylo hears when a great big grin breaks out over the Knight’s face.

“ _Yeah_ ,” Kylo says into Hux’s mind, “ _and the Great General Hux of the First Order…he’s_ mine _._ ”

Hux finds he rather likes the intimacy of this Force-mind-speak, not to mention the sexy emphasis on the possessive, clearly conveyed by Kylo’s Force-mind voice. But before Kylo can comment, take it too far, Hux levels him with a look. “In these moments _only_. Never, _ever_ on the bridge.”

Kylo is already pulling the door open by now, making to walk away, and Hux shouts after him, “Kylo! _KYLO_ _REN_! Do you hear me?! _NEVER_ ON THE BRIDGE!”

Kylo is already gone by the time Hux rights his appearance enough to emerge from the room. A few nearby technicians give him a funny look. He stares them down, icy eyes flashing. The turn back to their work; good, Hux thinks, they won’t be a problem, then. He’d really hate to have to send them to reconditioning – that program is kriffing expensive to run. Murder on the budget.

As he walks back to his quarters, he hears Kylo’s voice in his head, speaking to him from across the ship. “Clean up, rest a bit, work your shift – there’s no point in asking you to skip it, I already know you won’t – and then afterwards, General, come to my quarters. I have a gift for you…”

Hux quickens his pace.


	3. Chapter 3

He’s rapping at the door to Kylo’s quarters precisely five minutes after his shift has ended. Kylo actually comes to the door and physically opens it, instead of just waving a hand and using the Force like he’s usually wont to do. He’s wearing the familiar black joggers and singlet with the hoodie again. Hux is somewhat distressed to discover that he finds Kylo even more attractive in this than in the Nabooian getup from earlier.

“Glass of wine?” Kylo is asking. He’s holding a bottle of Corellian wine in one hand and a long-stemmed glass in the other. Hux does not miss the practiced way Kylo pours or the fact that the alcohol and glass are paired correctly. Kylo hands Hux the glass, fetches his own from where it sits on the small kitchenette counter, and goes to sit cross-legged on the bed, sipping his wine like an expert despite the teenaged hoodie. Hux wants to _die._

Unbidden, flashes of actual teenaged Kylo trailing Leia at New Republic soirées come to mind. One image in particular sticks; it’s of young Kylo, sipping his wine in a dark corner, dressed in perfect finery but characteristically sullen and skirting the line of _just_ _barely_ observing the rules of polite society. Diplomats come up to him, blather on in politic-speak, and young Kylo scares them off with a smart remark that sounds alright at face value, but belies a darker meaning. His eyes hold a strange kind of anger each time he successfully drives one off, watching as one by one, they all inevitably turn their back and leave him to his brooding. It lasts for no more than a few seconds at most, but by the end of this little parade of images in his head, Hux is sweating. Instead of having a nervous breakdown, however, he removes his greatcoat and hangs it in Kylo’s little entryway, then goes to take his customary seat at the desk, the chair turned round to face Kylo on the bed.

They sip in silence for a while, Hux fiddling with the stem of the glass and Kylo alternately taking sips of his wine and sucking on the end of his right hoodie string. Hux should find it disgusting. Instead, it’s alluring as hell.

“My name is Ben,” Kylo says, matter of fact and completely unexpected. Hux stares.

“Ben Solo,” he clarifies. “Or, well, it was. No one calls me that anymore. I – I thought I killed him once, really,” he says. Hux just nods, listening.

“I’m not sure now,” Kylo admits.

Hux lets the silence settle for a few minutes, then raises his glass and dips it in Kylo’s direction with a nod. “Armitage,” he says. “My first name. Nobody else knows it. Well, except Phasma,” he amends.

Kylo smiles. “Thank you.”

Hux smiles back, then turns pensive.

“Kylo, or Ben, I’m not sure which you’d prefer me to call you – what - what _is_ _this_?” he asks, going for nonchalant but no doubt sounding plaintive. His accent is a little off, too. Arkanian vowels are starting to bleed through. It happens when he’s drunk, or close to it. It’s why he usually drinks alone, or keeps a tight leash on his consumption. But damn, even though it’s only wine, this stuff is strong.

Kylo guesses Hux’s line of thinking, or maybe he pulls it from his mind with the Force, Hux isn’t sure, but soon Kylo is answering, “My father gave it to me. Han.” He clarifies. Like that’s supposed to explain everything. Actually, Hux supposes, it kind of does. Han Solo would no doubt have the good stuff, the _hard_ stuff, and nothing less would do. Smuggler and all that.

Hux raises his glass again. “To never knowing if it was us or them,” he says. Kylo looks puzzled, but drinks anyway. They lapse into a comfortable silence again.

Kylo breaks it first, speaking around the mouthful of hoodie sleeve he currently has stuffed between his lips. “What did you mean, ‘never knowing if it was us or them’?”

Hux huffs out a breath, and goes to get another glassful. He pours generously, wanting to _feel_ it, and seeing no reason why he shouldn’t. It’s just Kylo. He wonders when he began thinking that way. Of Kylo Ren as ‘safe.’

“Me too,” Kylo says quietly, and it takes Hux a moment to realize he’s responding to the thoughts in Hux’s head, not the conversation they are having out loud. It’s surprisingly endearing. He smiles as he settles back into his seat. “I meant,” he says, and then takes a long sip, speaking around a mouthful of wine, “that we’ll neither of us know if it was them that made it difficult, or us. Between them and us, I mean,” he says, and he can hear it now, his full accent coming out.

“Ah, yes,” Kylo says quietly, but Hux can tell that Kylo’s attention is shifting. There’s a charged atmosphere in the room now. Slowly, cautiously, Hux gets up from his chair and moves to recline beside Kylo on the bed. Kylo immediately stiffens, and Hux picks up on something somehow, new and strange.

“Is it…?” he starts out, and watches as Kylo shifts and squirms as the syllables leave his lips.

Hux laughs, but not unkindly. “It _is_ , isn’t it!” Hux is nearly giggling now, and he’s so drunk that his accent has completely taken hold. “It’s my accent, huh?” he grins, looking Kylo full in the face now. Kylo, for his part, looks mortified, his cheeks burning red with heat.

“Y-yes,” Kylo answers. Hux isn’t sure why this is a point of embarrassment for Kylo, but it needn’t be.

“Kylo,” he says, making no effort to conceal his Arkanian speech, “it’s okay if my accent turns you on.” Kylo flinches at the words, but Hux continues. “Really. I don’t much like it myself, but if this is doing it for you…” Hux trails off suggestively, and Kylo drops the hoodie string he’s been worrying at with his fingers and launches himself at Hux so fast it’s almost blinding.

Hux’s back hits the coverlet and Kylo is suddenly everywhere at once, straddling Hux and sucking deep, open-mouthed kisses into his lips, his neck, his shoulders. Hux is starting to feel a little woozy, between the booze and the making out, but he’s doing his best to give as good as he’s getting. His fingertips find Kylo’s ass and squeeze, _hard._ Kylo yelps, then immediately starts kissing Hux with renewed force. Hux brings both of his hands up to Kylo’s biceps and digs his nails into the meaty flesh. At the same time, he shifts so his thighs are perfectly aligned with Kylo’s hips and tightens his muscles as hard as he can, locking Kylo in a vice grip before wrenching suddenly to the left, using his grip on Kylo’s shoulders and their combined momentum to propel them. Hux rolls on top of Kylo and sits up, starting down at him triumphantly. Kylo looks stunned, and more than a little turned on.

“I’m impressed,” Kylo says, meaning it. He’s always known Hux is stronger than he lets on, has always known that Hux would have been smart enough to learn the kind of combat that uses lightening fast reflexes, intellect, and agility to the best advantage, turning a larger opponent’s strength against them. It’s just…it’s something else to see it in action.

“We should spar sometime,” Kylo says, breathless. His eyes are dark as the depths of space.

Hux grins. “Only if you’re prepared to lose,” he teases. But he says the words in his full Arkanian accent. Kylo’s eyelids flutter as Hux speaks. Hux can’t help but grin.

“Do you remember my speech?” he asks.

“Which one?” Kylo quips, rolling his eyes even as he fails utterly in making himself appear unaffected. Hux is quite well aware of the affect his accent is having on Kylo’s…more intimate regions.

“You know the one,” Hux insists. “The one you liked so much but pretended you didn’t…the one you disappeared directly after and then spent the next four cycles off ship immediately following…”

“Oh.” Kylo says it flat, uninflected. Like he knows how utterly screwed he is. Hux smiles.

“Today is the end of the Republic…” Hux starts off.

“Stop!” Kylo says suddenly. His body has gone rigid underneath Hux.

“Not – not that one,” Kylo says. Hux just gives him a questioning look and waits patiently. Kylo will explain, he’s sure. Beacause for a pseudo-Sith, Kylo Ren sure loves to talk. While he waits, Hux focuses on Kylo’s hand – the silver ring is there again. Hux wonders why he wears it only sometimes, what it means.

Presently, Kylo pushes gently at Hux. Hux flushes.

“Sorry, erm –” He’s making an ass of himself in front of Kylo. He’s worried about how he looks, how he seems. He scrambles off of the man below him, wincing and berating himself for not having done so immediately. He can be such an _idiot_ about these things. And he and Kylo…it had been going so well, it all felt so _easy,_ so effortless. No wonder it had to end. Hux draws an imaginary greatcoat around himself, steels himself for the inevitable.

But Kylo surprises him. He holds out his hand. Hux takes it. The press of the silver ring is cool, but not cold. Just barely noticeable. But Hux – Hux notices. Hux always notices. Everything.

“Hey,” Kylo says quietly as he pulls Hux close and tucks him underneath one great big black-clad arm.

“Hmm?” Hux turns his head to look up at Kylo, lost in his thoughts and confused as to why they are cuddling. Kylo should be throwing him out right about now. What is going on?

“Hey, Hux,” Kylo repeats softly, “I’m not going to throw you out.” He makes a face, caught exactly halfway between pity and understanding. “Your mind is a really scary place, you know that?”

“Yes,” Hux says, still in his damned Arkanian accent he hates so much at times like these, “I know.”

“Fathers,” Kylo says. He does not elaborate. He doesn’t need to. Hux nods.

“Yes,” Hux says again, and hates the sound of his native tongue a little less this time. He softens a little, lets himself lean against Kylo’s side. Idly, Hux picks up Kylo’s right hand in both of his, turning it over and back over again, repeating the gesture without stopping until Kylo gently says, “I’ll tell you about it if you ask.”

Hux is opening his mouth to do just that when Kylo says, so quietly that at first Hux doesn’t realize Kylo is using their strange new bond to speak the words directly into his mind, “ _But please don’t ask tonight._ ”

Hux presses his lips together, shut and sealed out of deference to Kylo. He hears Kylo exhale, _feels_ the movement from all the places where their bodies are connected.

“What happened?” Hux asks. He is sobering up, but strong hints of his accent still bleed into his speech. It sounds weird; half Imperial, half Arkanian. Like him, he supposes. And he belongs fully to neither heritage, though he would never admit that out loud. Or in his mind. Except to Kylo. Kylo Ren, it seems, is always Armitage Hux’s exception.

“ _The only one_ ,” Hux breathes the words into Kylo’s mind. He’s not sure how it happens; he only knows that it does, because he can feel it, somewhere inside himself, and he can feel the echo when Kylo receives it, too. Their fingers interlock where their hands are touching on Hux’s lap. It’s instinctive. Kylo wails.

“What’s wrong?!” Hux whips his head around so fast he almost gets whiplash. He stares Kylo in the face, forces those big brown eyes to meet his. Kylo looks tormented, lost.

“I am,” Kylo says, picking up on Hux’s thoughts again. “You – you bring out things in me that only make sense in the content of… _of the Light_ ,” he whispers the last part, like it’s the biggest secret he has to impart. Hux supposes that in Kylo’s world, it rather is. He shifts so that he can get an arm around Kylo’s waist, spanning his broad back and tucking his fingers into the folds of Kylo’s hoodie on the other side. He tightens his grip on Kylo’s hand, and listens.

“I – I thought I killed Ben Solo. But tonight – and even earlier, when I was Kylo Amidala – yes, I heard what you called me in your head – I kind of liked it, actually. It… _fits_.” Kylo pauses for a moment. Hux can hear the general train of Kylo’s thoughts. He responds with his own, but speaks out loud, for now.

“Could you maybe consider modeling yourself after a different grandparent?” Hux asks. Kylo stares, like this is completely new information he’s never considered before. Hux can hear in Kylo’s mind that it’s true; he really hasn’t.

“I read up on Padme Amidala,” Hux says. “I – “ he blushes. “I may have borrowed your datapad and accessed some classified family records you have on it through…very illicit means I happen to have access to…” Hux trails off.

Instead of being mad, Kylo seems amused and maybe even a little pleased, proud. “You mean you hacked it,” he says, rolling his eyes. “Because you’re a genius engineer and somehow everybody always forgets.”

“Erm, well, yes,” Hux fidgets. “At least yes to the first part. The latter, well…” he trails off, clearly embarrassed. Kylo lets it go but makes a private mental note to work on Hux’s self esteem.

“Anyway,” Hux stumbles on, doing his best to regain his verbal and mental footing. “Padme Amidala cared very deeply for the world. She cared very deeply for those she loved. And she loved someone who had darkness in him. She existed with both light and dark in her life, arguably in herself because of how much she loved your grandfather.”

Kylo starts to interject, but Hux holds up a hand. “I’m speaking not of Darth Vader here, but of Anakin Skywalker himself. I saw the story in Luke’s journal about the Tusken Raiders. Anakin’s Force Ghost apparently told him the whole thing in quite some amount of detail…”

Hux can’t really believe this is where his life is at, talking about Force Ghosts as if it’s nothing, but earlier he and Kylo Ren had an entire conversation _in their minds_ , so he’s a little less fazed than he might otherwise have been by _this_ conversation.

“Including,” Hux continues, “Padme’s role in comforting Anakin. ‘To be angry is to be human.’ That sounds like a quote that might apply to you, Kylo. Or it sounds like it to me, anyway.” He amends quickly. He isn’t an expert on Force things, and he doesn’t want to give Kylo the impression that he’s overstepping.

“Hux,” Kylo says, “you’re really not in a category of person who _can_ overstep, anymore. You’re sort of _in it_ , now, you know?”

Hux nods absently. But yes, he does know. He had a similar revelation earlier tonight, when he realized his life had reached a point in which Kylo Ren was classified as a safe person for him to drink with. They share a brief, very warm smile before Hux speaks again.

“I _don’t_ know much about the Force,” he insists, “but I do know quite a lot about people. It’s useful to study philosophy, the human condition, in order to know one’s enemy and rule over one’s subordinates effectively.”

It’s such a very Hux thing to say that Kylo almost has to laugh, picturing a younger Hux pouring over philosophic texts late into the night, a cup of caf next to him and perhaps a kitten Millicent curled up on his desk. He doesn’t laugh though. Maybe Hux is on to something.

“People all exist, it seems to me, with both light and darkness inside of them. Some choose one side or the other, and tamp down the opposing force . Others seem completely ignorant of the dichotomy and just never give it much thought at all. These are the people who seem to live very unimportant lives. But there is, I think, a third way…” Hux stops speaking and shifts onto his knees so he can look Kylo full in the face.

“Be both,” Kylo says quietly. The room around them begins to shake. A few glasses fall from the shelving unit over the sink and shatter in the basin. But Hux is caught up in Kylo, whose literal body seems to be vibrating with a strange new kind of energy. It’s like he’s having some kind of cosmic epiphany. “Be both,” he says again. “Be human. Be _whole_.” A bright white light breaks out in the room, its source impossible to pin down. It surrounds the two of them like some kind of binding ritual. Kylo grabs both of Hux’s hands in his own, crossing their wrists and fisting opposite hands together tightly. Hux can see his own knuckles turning white with the force of their grip. The light begins to fade, to make room for shadow, but neither force is fully eclipsing the other. It’s like they exist in some kind of perfect balance. “A Grey Jedi.” Kylo says, and all of the light and shadow whooshes out of the room, like it never even happened. Hux feels dazed.

“What just - ?” he starts, but Kylo shushes him with a finger to his lips. Then he leans in and kisses Hux, gentle and pure and yet filled to the brim with desire. It’s a heady mix, and Hux feels himself falling into the feeling of intoxication again, this time for an entirely different reason.

Kylo opens his eyes halfway though the kiss, meets Hux’s bright blue irises, and says, simply, “Thank you.” Hux smiles and kisses Kylo back, sweet and dirty and utterly perfect. “ _I think you saved me, Hux_ ,” Kylo says into Hux’s mind. Hux answers back immediately. “ _I think you freed me._ ”

They stay like that, kissing messy and deep and oh so pure until the sun from a nearby planet comes around and lights the viewport. The chrono on Kylo’s bedside table starts beeping; it’s time for their daytime command shift. They’ve stayed up all night. Hux is surprised to find that he doesn’t even care.

Reluctantly, they break apart and Kylo goes into the closet to change. Hux goes to the refresher, splashes water on his face and tries semi-successfully to tame his hair back into place. Presently, they’re both ready to leave the chambers. Hux has just finished pulling his boots on. He reaches into the pocket of his greatcoat to retrieve his gloves, but Kylo stops him with a hand.

“Wait,” he says, and slips the ring off his finger. He holds his other hand out for Hux. Slowly, Hux proffers his left hand. Kylo shakes his head.

“No, traditionally, it needs to be the right.” Kylo says. Hux is confused, but gives Kylo his right hand. He gasps in surprise as, there in the doorway of his quarters at five minutes to Alpha shift, Kylo Ren slips the mysterious silver ring onto Hux’s right ring finger. Somehow, it fits perfectly.

Hux stares at it. And then stares some more. He’s mesmerized. The way the silver gleams against his skin. How the markings feel as they brush up against his adjacent fingers. He’s sure they’re Alderaanian now. He turns his hand over, flips it back again. It looks so _good_ , Kylo Ren’s ring on his finger. A little thrill goes through him at the thought. He kind of loves it. Later, he’ll be surprised to learn that he’s forgotten all about the ring as a signifier of Kylo’s bloodline. Right now, all he can see is the ring as a signifier of _Kylo_. Of _his_ bond _with_ Kylo. Of… _them._

“Kylo,” Hux asks slowly, almost as if he’s afraid of the what the answer might be, “what is this?”

Kylo is looking down, toeing at the floor. He goes about maskless now most of the time, but right now, Hux can _feel_ how much Kylo wishes he had the privacy of the mask to hide his emotions behind.

“Hey,” Hux steps forward, putting the fingers of his right hand just underneath Kylo’s chin and tilting it up. “It’s okay. You know you don’t need to hide anything from me. We’re…” he smiles, strangely happy, “Force-bonded, right?”

Kylo still looks shy, and he’s picking at the sleeve of his tunic as if it were his beloved, well-worn hoodie. It’s…incredibly endearing. Hux smiles.

“Really, Kylo, it’s okay. Tell me.”

“ _I would love you even if the Force hadn’t willed it_ ,” Kylo says into Hux’s mind. It’s quick and rushed, like Kylo blurting out the truth.

Oh.

_Oh._

“I love you, too, Kylo,” Hux says, no hesitation and with only a little bit of trepidation – more to do with saying the words for the first time than with who he is saying them to.

“Me too,” Kylo says, again through their strange connection. “First time. In love.”

Hux smiles, kisses Kylo neatly on the mouth, then twines the fingers of his right hand with Kylo’s.

“So the ring, what is this?” he asks softly.

“Oh, I, um – “ Kylo struggles for words and Hux smiles indulgently.

“Relax, Kylo, I really like it. I only meant to ask what you meant by it, and really, I’ve been curious for a while, I’d like to know its significance.”

“Oh.” Kylo says, then seems to gain strength from the intellectual query. “It _is_ Alderaanian, as you thought.” Hux grins; he loves being right.

“It actually belonged to Padme.” This Kylo reveals more shyly, especially in light of what has just happened. “Bail Organa gave it to her. They were good friends. I believe it’s why Bail and his wife took in and raised Le- um, my mom.” Kylo stumbles a little at the end, but Hux is proud of how well Kylo is doing. He knows this is hard; now, it’s his turn.

“So,” Hux asks, and all of a sudden he’s the one feeling shy. He can feel his cheeks burning, but he continues, “does this mean you’re my, um, boyfriend now?” He looks down at his boots. They’re so shiny he can almost see his red-cheeked reflection in the gleaming insteps.

“It better,” Kylo grins and steps forward.

They kiss for longer than is prudent, and in the end, Hux has to go back into the refresher to fix his hair a second time. Wetted down day-old pomade doesn’t do as good a job of hiding the damage after this last round, though, so he jams his command cap on his head and hopes it will be enough. From the look on Kylo’s face, he’s not quite passing, but it will have to do. Perhaps his cold persona will keep people from guessing the real reason his hair is mussed. Perhaps they will just assume he was up all night working on spreadsheets and schematics in his office. Yes, that is actually probably what they will assume. He breathes a sigh a relief, but then quickly tenses up again.

He’s almost sorry to draw on his gloves, but he knows he has to. Reluctantly he pulls them on, first the left one and then the right, waiting until the last possible minute and wincing when the glint of silver is covered over and replaced by supple black leather.

Still, he can feel the weight of it underneath the glove, and that’s good, too. It’s almost exciting. Illicit. Secret. He grins, grabs Kylo’s hand, and pulls them both out into the corridor.


End file.
